Salvaged
by JMProfio
Summary: Bobby Pendragon doesn't like his new job at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. The pay is terrible, the whole place is creepy, and something about the animatronics gives him an uneasy feeling...


It was almost 3 AM.

Bobby frantically checked the clock again, before snapping his attention back to the monitors at a breakneck pace. _One, Two, Three... when did he leave the Cove?_ He spun quickly in his chair, smashing the "door close" button just as he heard a metal fist slam against it with enough strength to leave dents, followed by a sharp _screech_ as a hook was dragged slowly across the office window. Behind him, another set of footsteps shuffled in the adjacent hall, and he spun again, slamming his hand on the correct button and peering nervously through the window at the figure staring blankly back at him.

It was only 3 AM. The power was running low. Something was wrong—the last training message had been... _wrong_.

He shone a light in the left hall; the pirate one had gone back to its cove, and he opened the door. Just a quick flash of the light to make sure— _shit the bunny's back again_. He slammed it shut once more, shouting aloud at the purple face that had been a mere foot from his own. Looking back at the cameras, he could see them all. The bunny by one door, the chicken by the other. The bear staring directly into a camera right down the hall. The fox already peeking its head out of its cove again.

They hadn't told him about any of this. They had told him it was a part-time job, weeknights only. They had said they couldn't even pay him minimum wage for it, and asked if that was alright. They asked if he was alright working overnight shifts. It wasn't until his first day four days ago, when he'd listened to a static-y message from the man he'd replaced, that he found out about the band. The "active" animatronics. He looked back at the cameras; nothing had changed, and Freddy still watched the camera with dark, inhuman eyes, a permanent grin across his face. The power was running out. It was barely 3:30.

He shut his eyes, and took a deep breath, pressing his back against the far wall. There was no way out of this—the power would never last till six at this rate. He'd been so _close_ to making it; one more night and he would have been out, gone, quit. Why did he come back after the _first_ night? No amount of money was worth _this_ , and certainly not what he was being paid for it. He remembered the suggestion of the man on the phone; maybe if he sat very still and didn't move, they'd think he was an empty suit and leave him alone. Maybe they wouldn't even notice he was there.

The hum of the computers cut out abruptly, followed by the quiet grind of the doors sliding open as the last of the power died. Gentle music began to drift toward him from the hallway.

A familiar voice spoke from immediately beside him. "You're hopeless, aren't you?"

Bobby jumped, spinning around as a new panic added to his current terror. Saint Dane was watching him through the darkness, the spitting image of his fall from grace; the red suit was torn and battered, and his black hair was streaked with grey. But the blue eyes watching him were just as powerful, and just as angry. "What—What are _you_ -"

"Don't you think there's a more _pressing_ danger, Pendragon?" The demon grabbed his arm roughly, directing his glare toward the flashing lights in the hall as the music reached it's end. " _Carmen_. Interesting choice." The blue eyes turned back toward the perplexed, terrified enemy. "Close your eyes again if you want to live."

The animatronics were moving closer, circling around them; through the clink and scrape of rusted metal, he could hear Freddy's low laugh drifting closer. Next to him, Saint Dane tightened his grip on his arm. Neither option seemed particularly great. But one seemed a hell of a lot painful than the other.

"Fine." Bobby shut his eyes tightly, and next to him he heard the demon take a quick step forward. A moment later he felt the air around him change; it was cramped and humid, a strong metallic scent permeating the air. The sound of the animatronics was gone, and it only took him a moment to realize that Saint Dane had jumped them to another location. A location which, if he could identify the scent correctly, contained a substantial amount of blood. "Am I right in thinking I shouldn't open my eyes right now?"

"It's for the best," the demon responded. "Unless you wanted to know what happened to the _last_ security guard."

The words from last night's phone call echoed through Bobby's head, and he remembered the frantic, worried tones of the man's voice over the phone. _Maybe sometime you could check inside those suits in the back room...I always wondered what was in all those empty heads back there..._

A sudden wave of nausea washed over him as he realized they were standing in the storeroom. The dark, off-limits room with the spare suits and heads, the ones with the eerily _human_ eyes. A room that smelled like blood. A room that smelled like death. He staggered slightly, placing his hand reflexively on a nearby shelf and pulling it back quickly as he came into contact with something cold and sticky. He needed to open his eyes, needed to actually _see_ what his brain was making ten times worse. But his eyes wouldn't open, glued shut by terror. Slowly, he forced them to open, forced his vision to adjust to the dim, musty room.

There wasn't nearly as much blood as he had convinced himself there would be. Most of it was long dried; staining the shelves and parts of the floor. On the shelf beside him was the pool of blood his hand had landed in, nowhere near fresh but not yet completely dried. It was leaking from a head—mottled and coated in dark red, with wires and metal jutting out at strange angles, as if whoever had built this particular animatronic had only seen the end results and hadn't yet mastered crafting their own. As his eyes adjusted further, he stepped away from it in horror as he fully saw what had become of his predecessor.

On the shelf sat a man's head. It had been ripped forcefully from his body, and then several chunks of metal exoskeleton and been thrust into every available orifice. The skin had been scraped back in places, deep enough to expose bone, and the eyes were missing altogether. Someone had tried, unsuccessfully, to remove the jaw by going through the mouth; the result was a mangled mess of tooth and flesh which left the bone hanging loosely from the rest of the man's face. Another phone call drifted through Bobby's mind. _Try playing dead... there's a chance that maybe they'll think that you're an empty costume instead. Then again... they might try to stuff a metal skeleton into you._

Another wave of nausea fought its way to the surface. Is that what had happened here? Is that what would have happened to _him_? The shock of the situation was too great for him; Bobby collapsed to his knees, giving in to the nausea and vomiting on the floor. He grimaced; the half-digested slurry of pizza and coffee didn't exactly make the cramped room smell any better. But he'd gladly take it over the smell of a mutilated corpse.

Nearby, Saint Dane was watching him calmly. "I did warn you not to open your eyes."

Bobby shot him a glare, but in his current state it was half-hearted at best. His chest heaved again, but he managed to hold it in, wobbling back onto his feet. "What are... what are _you_ doing here? You're _dead_."

"I am." The response was matter-of-fact, as if the simple fact that he were saying it wasn't in itself a contradiction. "So are they. I lived off of negative energy; it seems this place is somewhat rich in that in particular. It appears that I gravitated here upon my defeat, though they don't seem to like me any more than they like you. We've created a barricade of sorts at the door to this room, to prevent the others from getting in."

" _We?_ " the Traveler responded.

A few shelves over, there was a slight rustle as something moved. The steps were slow and plodding, and as the large figure rounded the corner and stood in front of them, Bobby let out a small scream and took a terrified step away. It was an _animatronic._ But, he realized quickly, not one of the current models. It was a large golden bunny, not unlike the purple one in the current band, but worn down with age and misuse. Its mouth hung loosely, and as it moved closer Bobby could see the wires and clasps behind its grin, wrapped tightly around long-decayed human flesh. It was a suit, but there was a _person_ in this suit.

"What the hell," Bobby managed.

"I might even say this man's worse than _I_ am," Saint Dane explained. "In life, he was not exactly a... model citizen. His victims saw to it that he suffered the same fate."

The former man simply watched the two blankly, the glassy eyes of the suit mimicked by the dead stare of the corpse within the spring-trap grave. He walked up to Bobby, stopping directly in front of him and tilting his head in a questioning manner.

"The new security," Saint Dane said calmly, speaking directly to the creature. "He ran out of power, so I brought him here."

The bunny turned slightly, and pointed toward the door, which Bobby now noticed was behind several sturdy looking metal shelves and several planks of wood.

"I've already told you, I don't _use_ the doors."

The animatronic simply gazed at him blankly. The demon sighed.

"So," Bobby hazarded, casting a nervous glance between the two. "Lemme get this straight. You and murder-bunny here have been hiding in the storage closet."

"Yes," Saint Dane replied.

"And you're still alive because this restaurant is filled with the energy that powered your Solara."

"More or less."

"And you decided to save me from..." The Traveler glanced back at the decimated head on the shelf, and quickly glanced away. "... From the others."

"Would you _rather_ I had let you die?"

" _No_ ," he answered quickly. "I just... _why_? I'd think if anyone wanted me dead, it'd be you."

The demon smirked slightly. "I can understand your confusion, Pendragon. My first instinct was definitely to leave you for dead. I even debated cutting the power a few nights ago, to expedite the process."

Bobby glared at the taller man. "You _what?_ "

" _Debated._ Your presence here is proof that I decided otherwise. My point is, until the last moment I had fully intended to let you die. And then, I came to an interesting conclusion. As satisfying as it would be to watch my enemy's slow, excruciating death, it would leave this place with nothing of any relevant interest. My point, Bobby, is that a world in which you are dead would be immensely _boring_."

The younger man shot him a skeptical look. "So what, you saved me because you were bored?"

The demon smirked. "Exactly."

Their conversation was interrupted by a light beep permeating through the darkness. Bobby jumped, only afterwards realizing it was his wristwatch. The glowing numbers shone through the darkness, and he found himself grinning. 6 AM. He'd made it. He was alright. He wasn't going to die. Through the barricade, light shuffling could be heard in the halls; the animatronics returning to their places, donning their pleasant daytime personas. It was over. He started laughing, relief outweighing the terror and shock flooding through his system. It was done. He was _alive_.

Then his laughter stopped abruptly as he looked at the exit to the store room, piled high with shelves. How the _hell_ was he going to get out of this room?

From beside him, Saint Dane let out an irritated sigh, paired with a mutter of "Hopeless." Then he grabbed the smaller man's arm, took a step, and suddenly they were standing in the main dining area. From the stage, the animatronics turned slightly, but made no move to pursue them. The night was over, and their chance was gone

Bobby turned toward the blue-eyed demon and cast him a hesitant smile. "I guess I should thank you for saving my life?"

"No need," Saint Dane replied. "Like I said, this place would be incredibly dull without you."

The Traveler frowned, unsure if the dry comment was a compliment or not. Then he shrugged; it didn't really matter that much. "So I'm guessing the war's back on, then?"

The tall man shook his head. "Not this time, I'm afraid. I can't seem to leave this damned restaurant. It appears we've reached a stalemate."

"Sure it is," Bobby quipped back. "It only _looks_ like I've won."

"Don't forget that you'd be dead without me, boy."

"I know, I know." He turned and began to head for the exit, his joints already aching with the promise of a relaxing shower and sleep. It had been a long night—a long, stressful, terrifying night.

"And Pendragon?"

He turned back, pausing for just a moment to look back at his nemesis. Saint Dane smirked slightly, and for a moment he swore he saw the expression mimicked by the band.

"See you next week."


End file.
